


All Jason Wanted Was Shampoo

by Emma_with_her_head_in_the_clouds



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jason Todd: secret shampoo snob, Sad Tim Drake, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_with_her_head_in_the_clouds/pseuds/Emma_with_her_head_in_the_clouds
Summary: Jason only wanted to steal the Replacement's shampoo. He never expected to walk in on Tim Drake at his darkest moment.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 303





	All Jason Wanted Was Shampoo

**Author's Note:**

> So this is set in a alternative timeline where Tim failed to rescue Bruce after he "died".
> 
> I wasn't planning on writing this, but wrote it in my head whilst insomniac at like 1am last night (when I had to be up at 6:30am for work). I thought I might as well make some use of it and write it down.
> 
> To be totally honest, I've just published this straight. Maybe I'll edit it tomorrow and find the inevitable typos...
> 
> EDIT:  
> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos and commented! I'm blown away by the response to this fic!  
> I realised I should probably have added trigger warnings for this (see the tags). Stay safe everyone! I hope you don't ever have to feel like Tim, but remember that there's people out there who care!

Jason pulled off his helmet as he slammed the door of his safe-house shut behind him. He was tired, and all he wanted was a shower and then to fall into his bed. It had been a tough night. Tossing aside his leather jacket, he stumbled into his bathroom, somehow managing to find a dry towel (which was surprising; he really needed to do laundry). But just when he thought luck was finally going his way, he looked to his shower and remembered.

"Damn it!" He'd used the last of his shampoo up last night. He could shower without it, but he had sweaty helmet-hair, and really didn't want to. Where would he be able to get shampoo this time of night (or more accurately, morning)? Sure, there might be a 24 hour convenience store open somewhere, but Jason didn't want convenience store shampoo. Was it too much to ask for a little luxury in his otherwise shitty life? Living with a billionaire hadn't exactly giving him a taste for the finer things in life (and Jason tried to blot out from his mind everything from back then, from before). But sue him, he had a secret love of fancy shampoo, okay?

He racked his tired brain, trying to think of where he could source some, legal or otherwise. Hey, it wasn't like he was against breaking laws (but normally for something more important than haircare).

Then he remembered. Replacement always liked to keep his safe-houses well stocked with "essentials". The little nerd was too organised to risk (shock-horror!) running low on something. Despite his fucking ugly hairstyle, he also had good taste in shampoo. And he had a safe-house just down the street. It wasn't like he'd be there; he'd been out of Gotham for weeks now (Jason hadn't been keeping track because he cared, he just liked to know what was going on with the city and the Bats. So he could be prepared).

Jason smirked to himself. Plan made. He'd just break into Replacement's safe-house and steal his shampoo. It might be a bit petty how much the concept amused him (maybe he'd leave a message there for Replacement, whenever it was he returned. Or perhaps just move all his stuff around, and see if he noticed [of course he would]).

It took a good 10 minutes to dissemble the security on the window so he could pull himself through it into Replacement's bathroom. It wasn't the most impressive bathroom he'd ever seen, particularly considering this safe-house seemed to be one Replacement favoured. It just had the basics (toilet, sink and a small bath with a shower attachment overhead). Jason knew one of Replacement's other safe-houses had a hot-tub (the fact he didn't favourite that one was just another reason the kid was weird).

His eyes nearly passed straight over the unimpressive bathtub. But something caught his eye. He turned back stare at it, and figure out what. It was a few moments until he realised he could just see a few strands of Replacement's over-long hair against the back of the tub (the rest presumably hidden from view by the side of it). He strode over to the tub.

The sight that met his eyes was not what he was expecting. At all.

Replacement was laid in the bath, eyes closed, face ghostly pale, head balancing barely above the water line. And the water was bright red.

\---

_Tim had failed. He'd set out to save Bruce. He'd gone to all that effort. He'd spent all that time. He'd lost his spleen in the process. And he'd still failed. No wonder his family thought he was useless. No wonder they didn't want him._

_He didn't even really know why he'd dragged his sorry ass back to Gotham. So he could fail it one more time? Gotham was the city that birthed him, that raised him (it's not like his parents had really done so). It was only right it be the place he breathed his last._

_There wasn't much to do. He'd put most of his affairs in order before he set off on his mission, knowing going in that it might well have claimed his life. He considered writing a letter, but couldn't think of anything to say. Maybe it was better without? Then they could imagine him saying the things they wanted to hear._

_He stripped off everything but his pants (still putting his dirty clothes away in the laundry hamper, an act of habit more than anything) , ran himself a warm bath, and climbed inside. He had originally planned on using a razor blade, but by coincidence, as he walked through his living room, his eyes happened to spot a batarang he'd left sitting on his shelf for months. He couldn't even remember why he had it. But it just seemed fitting._

_He turned the batarang over in his hands a few times. He wasn't having second thoughts. Not at all. It just felt... Anticlimatic. But what was he waiting for, dramatic music? He took a breath and ran the blade down his wrists, letting them splash back down into the water when he was done. He closed his eyes, not expecting to ever open them again._

\---

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

Jason hauled the Replacement's limp body out of the bath, lying him on the bathroom floor. Blood still seeped from the slashed wrists, which was alarming, considering how red the water had been. He frantically wrapped a towel around them.

He fished his phone out of his pocket, and called a number he hadn't called in years, but had never quite deleted, moving it from burner to burner.

"Hello?" Dick Grayson's cheery voice rang out, in juxtaposition to the situation at hand. Jason couldn't say anything at first. "Hello?"

"...Dick?" he croaked out.

"Jason!? Is that you? How are you?" It hurt how pleased to hear from him he sounded. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Now he sounded worried.

"It's Re... it's... Drake."

"What?" Now he sounded confused.

"Drake. I'm at his safe-house. The one near Crime Alley. He's hurt."

"Tim's not in town at the moment."

"He is. He's lying here limp on the floor, and I need help, now!"

"He's not... he's not..."

"I don't know."

What was going on with Jason's mind? Why couldn't he focus. He'd not even felt for a pulse yet! He raised a hand, shaking more than he'd like to admit, and placed it on Drake's neck.

"There's a pulse. It's weak, but it's there,"

"Thank God," Grayson sighed. "I'm on my way, I'll be there soon. What we dealing with? Head injury? Gun shot? Stab wound?"

How does he tell him?

"No."

"Then what is it then? What's wrong with him?"

"Blood loss. I found him bleeding out in the bath. Lacerated wrists. Dick... I think he did it himself. He did it to himself."

**Author's Note:**

> I could continue the story further, but I think this is a good place to leave it.


End file.
